EVERY MOONLIT night, in a small
town in the middle of the
desert in rajasthan, on the
wide terraces of a beautiful
stone palace, a thousand queens
emerge. eyes sparkle, anklets jingle,
skirts rustle amid peals of laughter as
they swish and glide across the corridors
of the palace playing hide and seek.
As the night slowly fades, they fade
away too, taking their music and magic
with them. that’s what i saw and heard,
sitting with my eyes closed on the lonely
parapet of Khetri mahal at Jhunjhunu,
the heart of the Shekhawati region.

In the triangle formed by Delhi-
Jaipur-Bikaner, spreading across many
districts of barren flat land lies a region
dotted with abandoned havelis, ruins of
forts, chhattris (constructions with an
umbrella type dome) and baoris (step
wells); the erstwhile garden of rao
Shekha — Shekhawati. After the fall of
the mughal empire, the descendants of Rao Shekha aligned themselves to the
rajput rulers of Amer. Almost every
haveli in this region has beautiful frescos,
murals and paintings — both inside
and outside — thus gaining the name
“the open art gallery of rajasthan”. the
art tells stories from various ages: Krishna
combing radha’s tresses, British
officers dining with indian merchants
from the region, kings on horseback,
love stories of Shiva and Parvati and so
much more. the most unique feature of these paintings is that ever so often they
mix up the times — european ladies attending
the raasleela, becoming the
gopis of Krishna, and women arriving in
motor cars to Shiva and Parvati’s wedding.

TRIFLESShekhawati has a rich history of
valour in the battlefield. The
Indian Army has a large number
of recruits from the region
Nearest airport: Jaipur
Nearest station: Jhunjhunu, Rajasthan

I figured the best way to see this
region was to draw a map and do a
road trip. i was staying at the Piramal
Haveli which is in Baggar, near the
town of Jhunjhunu. every morning i
would drive out and follow the dusty
roads to one small town, nawalgarh
or Parasurampura or mandawa,
leisurely taking in the magic of
Shekhawati. i would spend the entire
day in that town — meeting caretakers
of old houses who’d serve me thick
milky tea and reverently open locked
doors to show me a room where every
inch of the wall is covered with rich
art work; chatting with young boys
who live in hostels set up in a deserted
haveli with open courtyards and narrow ledges; following women who
walk miles to draw water, to see a
1,000-year-old baori. A sense of nostalgia,
heavy with memories, hangs over
the entire region. you can hear whispers
in every corner.

Hidden architectural gems emerge
from amidst muddy bylanes and ugly
concrete facades that have sprouted
in front of these havelis that once were
the houses of some of the richest
merchants of the country.

You leave with a sense of enchantment
and a faint shadow of sorrow.
most of the paintings are fading, the
havelis are crumbling. the owners of
these havelis and their families no
longer stay here. running huge businesses
in mumbai, Delhi and Kolkata,
they have probably forgotten
Shekhawati. And Shekhawati, a mausoleum
of its past grandeur with its
magic and its mystery, lies quite alone.